


Shouldn't Be This Easy

by Swlfangirl



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, I suck at tagging, M/M, alternative universe, christmas-ish, could be considered pre-slash, i dunno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 15:47:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5592034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swlfangirl/pseuds/Swlfangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's on the run once again, mildly hating his life and lack of freedom over the holidays. Phil tracks him down quickly, and just as swiftly sweeps away the majority of his troubles. What's a guy to do but fall in love?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shouldn't Be This Easy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tamnation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamnation/gifts).



 

 

 

* * *

 

 

For most people the holiday season meant a roaring fire, ornate baubles hanging from the tree, and the fresh scent of pine or warm cookies drifting through the house. Clint Barton wasn’t so lucky. For him, Christmas would be spent on the run; dodging bullets, trying to stay warm while hiding out in abandoned buildings, and hopefully prolonging the inevitable a little longer.

 

He’d managed to get a few hours ahead, having spotted the guy immediately. Sometimes it was like they didn’t even try to blend in. Clint shook his head at the memory of a jet black suit, freshly polished black dress shoes, and bright blue eyes. It was a shame really, the guy was gorgeous and looked criminally delicious in the tight uniform handed out to all the evil little robots. 

 

The head start afforded him the luxury of grabbing a couple hours sleep, once he found somewhere to bed down. Believe it or not, he really enjoyed the notion of not having to wake up to the sounds of bullets flying overhead. Thankfully, he’d done enough damage, hand to hand, that Simon Javorsky’s men wouldn’t come very close. Instead, they liked to hang back and shoot in his general direction. 

 

It was ridiculous really, every single bit of it a little less believable. Clint grew up on the streets, learned how to take care of himself, learned a lot more than he should have. It all started when he was seventeen and his distant cousin, Mikulas Barton, almost got ran over. The kid was practically a stranger, but Clint pushed him out of the way just in time. He almost immediately regretted it. Apparently this particular branch of his very distant, barely-known “family” weren’t exactly on the straight or narrow. 

 

When the closest of his distant cousins Petra, Mikulas’ father, found out about his heroic gesture he wanted nothing more than to bring Clint into the fold. Petra promised him the world on a silver platter, but he’d never been the materialistic type. He wasn’t super eager to break the law, either, and inevitably hurt or kill someone. Clint backed out immediately, saying that it was a generous offer, but he’d really just like to get back to his life.

 

Just a few short weeks later, the Barton family home burned to ash with most of his only remaining kin locked inside. As awful as that was, it was only the start of Clint’s trouble. From the information he’d gathered over the last six years, Clint learned that Mikulas wasn’t home when it happened. His young cousin was still alive, at least temporarily, after the fire. He’d heard that the boy promised all-out war for the death of his family and that he, Clint, would be heading the charge.

 

The news of another member of the Barton family spread fast throughout the underworld and Petra’s enemies seemed to come out of all corners of the earth looking for Clint. By now, Most had given up, but Javorsky was one stubborn asshole. That alone made it pretty clear that Simon Javorsky was the monster responsible for the fire, hence the persistence. Clint tried to explain that he wanted nothing to do with it, but apparently the Barton name meant he inherited an entire shit-storm whether he asked for it or not. 

 

When Clint saw the sky darkening behind a large, empty smokestack at the next exit, he quickly turned onto the ramp. It wasn’t difficult to hide the small, black sedan he’d picked out; the abandoned factory was huge and thankfully not entirely deteriorated. He slipped around to the trunk where he kept his escape bag, loaded with emergency supplies. Clint hadn’t been able to really hold onto much over the years, but he had a thick, heavy sleeping bag, a few weapons, and enough food and water to keep him from starving for a week or two if necessary. 

 

The inside of the building wasn’t exactly cozy, but it kept the icy winter air from beating against his skin.. He settled in for the night, tucking his favorite blade beneath the small, flat pillow. It wasn’t long before he calmed his racing heart enough to drift off to sleep, the remnant smell of smoke and ash only a minor distraction.

  
  
  


Clint felt a tingling prickle beneath his skin as if he were being watched. His mind not fully functioning yet, there was little he could do about it. He stirred to full consciousness, immediately reaching for the knife under his pillow and lurching upright in his sleeping bag. With his weapon in hand, ready to fight, Clint blinked a few times until the whole room came into view. 

 

Less than ten feet away was the man he’d ran from just hours earlier. The weirdest part was that it wasn’t just the man in the deep black suit and shiny shoes to match. No, where there was nothing but open space before was now occupied by what looked to be a fairly comfortable chair where the man was perched appearing quite relaxed. 

 

“Javorsky finally find himself someone with a set of balls?” Clint asked, the smirk wide on his mouth. He might still be reeling from sleep and the lack thereof but he wasn’t going to act scared or weak; it wouldn’t do him any good in the end either way. He’d been fighting for his life for quite some time and he was confident in his ability to come out on top. Jackie had always told him that the second he doubted himself was the same second that would ensure his defeat. Well, that’s what he said before he went evil and tried to kill him, but Clint was still at least mostly sure it was the truth.  

 

“Oh I think you have me mistaken for someone else, Mr. Barton. If I were here to kill you, you’d already be dead.” The man answered, the light blue eyes seemed to twinkle with both certainty and awe. 

 

“Okay, let me guess...you’re here to serenade me with a boombox and Peter Gabriel. No? Well, maybe you’re here to tell me about your lord and savior Jesus Christ. Sorry buddy, but whatever you’re sellin’, I’m not buying.” Clint folded his arms, imagining he looked much more threatening than he probably did. His hair still mussed from sleep and he was sitting down on the floor. 

 

“Cute,” the man said, pausing to give Clint a look that seemed far too fond for their short acquaintance. “Romantic propositions aside, I’m really only here to help. We’ve been doing reconnaissance on Simon Javorsky for months now and we’re nearly ready to take him down, but something more... solid, like witness testimony for attempted murder, would do wonders for our case.”

 

Realization struck Clint as he remembered that the perfectly tailored black suit wasn’t solely  the uniform of Javorsky’s men, but more than one government agency had been known to use the same.Though it looked expensive for someone working on a government salary. “So you’re a fed?”

 

“Something like that,” the man replied, hesitating as his eyes made a visible sweep across the open room. Clint couldn’t help but feel like he was being judged, the few meager possessions he had all strapped down in a single duffle less than a foot away. He knew that he must have still looked disheveled, which didn’t help the situation at all. 

 

“Unless you’re partial to this...space, I suggest you come with me and we can get you into something a little more... comfortable,” he said with a wry smirk that made Clint’s entire body seem to flush. Clint shook his head in disbelief. The man stood there, stone faced and seemingly at ease. All the while, his own head roared with information and a few imaginative scenarios, driven from the ridiculous innuendo. 

 

“I don’t even know your name…” he trailed off, the words tasting  bitter on his tongue. Clint couldn’t believe he was actually considering going with the man, but the sad truth was that he just wanted it to be over. Wanted to stop running for longer than a week or two and if nothing else, maybe this guy and all his federal buddies could be his ticket to freedom. 

 

“Agent Coulson. I’ll give you a few minutes to collect your things and wait for you outside.” The agent turned to leave pausing a few steps from where he’d been sitting and swiveled back to look at Clint. “You’re not our prisoner, Mr. Barton, but I suggest leaving the  _ cleverly appropriated _ vehicle behind, given that it was reported missing nearly eight hours ago.”

 

_ Damn. _

 

One week, four days. 

 

Wait, he should really let this sink in-  _ One _ (as in singular) week and _ four  _ (barely more than half of another week) days. That’s what it took for Agent Coulson and his  _ people _ to bring Simon Javorsky and most of his known associates to justice. What Clint assumed would be a court trial in front of twelve jurors, battled out between lawyers, was instead just a meeting in some kind of conference room with some  council folks. They said a bunch of stuff he didn’t understand, but thankfully, Phil… uh...Agent Coulson was there to explain it to him.

 

He watched as they locked Simon and his people into unbreachable containment cells and carted them off to a secure facility. Agent Coulson reassured him several times over that once Javorsky was locked away, there wasn’t any escaping. He’d personally see to it that not a single one of them would see daylight again, especially after all the hell they’d put Clint through. Clint only thought that Agent Coulson was even hotter when he was angry. 

 

While all of this was happening, Clint and Coulson bided the, albeit short, time ( _ one week and four days,  _ Clint still can’t believe it _ ) _ waiting in a warm, remote cabin. While Simon and his coconut headed goons were being rounded up, he and Coulson were safely tucked away, enjoying the peace and quiet of nature, and even going as far as making good use of the snowy weather. It took a bit of convincing, but Clint was able to talk the good agent into a playful snowball fight.Clint had no idea a paper pusher like Coulson could match him, shot for shot, with a snowball. 

 

When he heard that it was over, Clint found his chest a little raw. It was a quick smack of reality, more of a punch really, right to his dream-filled gut. With the trial finished, Clint paced nervously back and forth the small space just outside the conference room. His mind filled with scenarios of putting himself out there, making a million different confessions, only to have his heart politely handed back to him. Agent Coulson was probably as professional as they came.

 

It was easy to convince himself that all their time spent together was just Phil looking out for his asset. Sure, the man wasn’t as stiff or cold as the others he’d met, but just because he’d let down the “agent” exterior didn’t mean that they were friends, or anything else for that matter _. _ He was ready to beat his head against the wall when a familiar voice stopped him. 

 

“So, where to?” Coulson asked, the warmest smile on his face as he lead Clint through the narrow hallways toward the exit. 

 

“Honestly? I don’t know.” Clint shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck nervously as his pulse began to hammer in his chest. “ It’s been awhile since I had a choice of where to go, or how long I could stay. Actually, come to think of it...I don't really have anywhere to go.” Clint realized that despite all the decent places he’d crashed, not one of them was ever his own. He’d never held a job long enough to actually rent a place. It wasn’t always abandoned warehouses or dingy rooftops, but he hadn’t been able to call anywhere home in years. “Sorry, wow that sounded much less pathetic in my head.”

 

“Not pathetic, just disappointing. You should have a home.  You  _ can _ have a home now, Clint.” Phil stopped, reaching a hand out to his shoulder and sending a pulse of electric heat through Clint’s entire body. It was such a ridiculous reaction to such a simple touch, but it had been so long since he’d allowed himself to get close to anyone. Clint had learned a long time ago that forming attachments only hurt more in the long run. The one time he’d actually started to care for someone, Javorsky’s men captured and tortured her for information she didn’t have. Clint didn’t even realize anything was wrong until the following morning when he was three states away. 

It took every ounce of his restraint not to shove Phil up against the nearest hard surface and kiss him breathless. 

 

“They say home is where the heart is. I guess I should just stay here, ” Clint muttered, followed by a bitter snort.  

 

“What was that?”

 

“Nothing,” he answered, closing his eyes to try and regroup. Clint never had such issue with his emotions, had always managed to keep a good handle on himself. Phil brought things out in him that he’d been neglecting for years and now it was all catching up to him. 

 

“You could stay, y’know.” 

 

“What?” he asked, curious and a little confused.

 

With a shrug, Phil dug his hands into the pocket and gave a small half-smile. “We could really use a guy like you. I mean, you’ll have to do a probationary period, but I don’t think it will take long for you to convince them you’re worthy of a position here.” 

 

Clint was floored; the idea of working with the good guys felt like a pipe dream, when he’d been on the wrong side of the law for so many years. The fact that Phil had  faith in not only his ability but his character was by far the most impressive take-away. He wanted to stay, wanted to make a home with the people fighting on the right side, but he knew that before he even considered it he had to know where the gorgeous agent stood on whatever was between them. 

 

“So, I should stay for the agency...anything else? Any other reasons I shouldn’t leave?” Clint asked, a little more hesitant to hear  Phil’s answer now that the words were actually out there. 

 

“Well the coffee’s good.” The agent’s arms that were typically crossed over his chest in a no nonsense manner, were draped openly at his sides leaving his body unprotected. It was a sign of trust and even Clint could read that easily. 

 

Dumbstruck, he replied. “Coffee?”

 

“Not here of course, but down the street is a lovely cafe’.” Phil’s brow quirked up and he leaned toward Clint, brushing against his shoulder. The small warmth spiked from the touch was frankly ridiculous but it left a heat that Clint couldn’t ignore. “You should let me take you there, sometime.” Coulson added, the small smile on his face turning even brighter. 

 

“Oh,” Clint  answered, knowing his disappointment was evident but too distraught to care. It took far longer than it should have for Clint to understand the offer. Of course when he realized what happened he was eager to agree. “Ooooh. Okay, yes, yeah that sounds great.” 

 

“Good, busy?” he asked, opening the door to one of the most gorgeous vehicle’s Clint had ever laid eyes on. It was a cherry red Corvette and his pulse spiked at the sight of it.

 

“Now?”

 

“Why not?” Phil’s mouth pushing up even further at the corners as he dug his hands into his pockets again.

 

“It shouldn’t be this easy, y’know.” Clint replied, a smile of his own tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

 

“It won’t always be. None of the best things are.” Phil answered, gingerly leading Clint down the street with a warm hand placed snugly against his lower back. They toasted the hard times in their future not long after, the smell of coffee and sugar surrounding them with a cloud of satisfaction and comfort. Clint decided then and there that he didn’t care how difficult things managed to get between them, that what was already there blooming in his chest was more than enough to make him fight to keep it. 

 

_ Eh, he was never really a fan of the easy things anyway. _

 


End file.
